Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [25]
“There they are!” he whispered tersely as Bulgan bumped up behind him. The other strained to see out of his one good eye, straightening as much as he was able. Bulgan sniffed as he stared.
“Got no guards,” he noted observantly. Bulgan was simple, but not quite so stupid as his outward appearance and attitude might suggest.
Kyakhta withheld the majority of his contempt. “Of course they got no guards, dimwit! What need do Jedi have for guards? It is they who guard others.”
Bulgan frowned, looked around in confusion. “What others?”
Not bothering to reply and keeping his face hidden as much as possible, Kyakhta saw that the visitors were unaccompanied by a local guide. In keeping with their unassuming demeanor, he knew they would prefer to travel without even a small entourage. Nor would they wish to attract a crowd. That was good. For the work they intended to do, he and Bulgan wanted as few complications, and witnesses, as possible. His upper right arm was throbbing above the prosthetic, as it always did when he was nervous.
“Which one we take?” Bulgan had to move his head from side to side in order to see around eddying pedestrians who were not so much taller than he as straighter.
“I don’t know. It’s easy enough to tell the Padawans from their Jedi. They’re much younger. I don’t remember if there is a strength difference between human genders.” He did not bother to ask if Bulgan recalled such a thing. Bulgan had trouble remembering what day it was, and sometimes his own name.
What did the Hutt Soergg want with a Jedi Padawan anyway, he wondered. Well, that was no business of his. He and Bulgan had only to carry out their task. Besides, thinking on more than one subject at a time hurt his head.
“Let’s follow them,” the bent one suggested. This was so obvious and sensible a notion that Kyakhta could hardly countenance its origin.
The Jedi visitors acted like any group of tourists, listening to the spoken explanations of their guide as they strolled through the marketplace, dutifully admiring the sights while occasionally pausing to taste samples of the local cuisine. Occasionally, one or two of them would pause to admire a handicraft or artwork, a neatly turned bracelet or glistening singing plant from the equatorial regions. They did not buy anything, Kyakhta noted. What use did a Jedi have for personal possessions when their Council kept them always on the move? But their roving lifestyle did not prevent them from looking and appreciating.
One of the Padawans stopped outside a shop that featured sanwiwood sculptures from the Niruu Plateau. The Niruu Alwari were famed for their woodwork. It was the young female, Kyakhta noted. The modestly windowed shop was one of many that fronted on the central marketplace itself, and therefore was more substantial than the temporary stalls and carts that filled the central square.
Go inside, he heard himself thinking urgently at the preoccupied Padawan. Go on, go in. Admire the lovely pretties. Next to him, Bulgan had gone silent, sensing that the moment might be near. In the midst of watching and waiting, Kyakhta did remember to finger the homing device at his waist.
After exchanging a few words with her equally youthful counterpart, the female Padawan entered. Her male colleague turned away and moved off, trailing the two older Jedi. The latter were locked in animated conversation. They appeared not to have noticed the momentary detour taken by one of their young apprentices.
“Now, quickly!” Forcing himself not to break into an eye-attracting lope, Kyakhta hurried forward.
The Winds of Whorh were with them. There was no one else in the shop: only the proprietor, a wizened old city dweller who looked nearly as well worn as some of her antique wood carvings. No